


Next Thursday Night

by tisfan



Series: Open Ask Prompts [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Car Sex, Casual Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, getting over it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 17:11:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9617291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Second grade teacher, Bucky Barnes, has just broken it off with his abusive ex, Brock Rumlow. Crashing on the art-teacher's sofa for a few weeks has its problems when Steve finally picks up the girl he's been flirting with for ages.Tony Stark has given his cheating ex the boot, finally, but getting back out there is going to require a lot of trust, and Tony's not sure he has any left.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Winteriron AU prompt : Bucky is gay and has been hurt by guys. cheated a lot. so now he is wary of dating. Tony Stark is also gay and is blamed for not giving his all in a relationship. He does it's the other party who makes him feel bad. They screw him over. so they are both wary of dating but like each other. They just don't know how to start talking about their feelings. They are in their late twenties. Happy ending.

“Oh, come on, man,” Rhodey said, motioning with his beer toward the scene. “You’re Tony fucking Stark. Just pick someone. Get yourself a guy. Hell, get yourself a girl, you’re an equal opportunity sort of dude. Pick someone and get yourself laid.” 

Tony peered mournfully into the bottom of his glass, the club’s party-lights glittering off the surface, sparkling. He wasn’t sure that he didn’t want a round of shots more than he wanted the effort it would take to pick up an evening’s quick fuck. Rhodey seemed convinced, however, that Tony getting some action would wash the taste of Ty Stone out of his mouth and let him _move on_. 

“You’ve been moping over the guy for a month now, Tones,” Rhodey said, “and he was never worth more than three minutes.” 

Tony rolled his eyes; even at his very drunkest, Tony lasted more than three minutes. Although he would agree -- privately -- that Ty should have never been more than a one-night-stand. He was just a one-night-stand that forgot to go home, and Tony had gotten used to Ty in his life and Ty in his bed and Ty’s pretty face at the kitchen table in the morning, and the one time that Ty had smuggled himself into Tony’s office at work and blown him under the desk while Tony tried desperately to hold a coherent conference call. 

“What do you want from me, sweet potato?” Tony tipped his cup up again, forgetting it was empty and a few drops of something fruity with a splash of cheap vodka rolled onto his tongue. 

“I want you to have a good time,” Rhodey said. “Pick someone up, go fuck them out in your limo. You’ll feel better. I’ll feel better. They’ll probably feel better. Look, there, at the bar, the blonde brickhouse, he’s your type.” 

Tony flicked a glance in that direction; yeah, the blonde guy was hot, and wow, he packed some serious ass, but he was also leaning heavily over the bar, chatting up Peggy, the bartender, a brunette girl wearing victory curls and a retro 1940’s outfit. Tony grinned; Peggy was a friend and had a stingingly tart mouth. She was going to make mincemeat of tall, blonde, and gorgeous. 

“If you get me a round of shots,” Tony bargained, “I’ll go flirt.” Tony loved having a VIP lounge; it meant he had a guaranteed seat. “Say hello to Carol while you’re over at the bar.” The two of them were regulars at this particular bar and Rhodey had a thing for Carol Danvers, one of the other regulars. She was just Rhodey’s type, sassy and adorable, and could totally beat him in an arm-wrestling match. They had a thing, sometimes. Looked like it was an on-again at the moment. 

Tony wasn’t eyeing the blonde, although he moved in that direction. Instead, he had his gaze set on the goth-emo guy sitting next to him, staring into his drink with the determined look of someone who wanted to be anywhere else but where he was. The kind of guy who would take one look at Tony and tell him to step off. So, Tony could come back to the VIP lounge in defeat and maybe Rhodey would chill.   

* * *

And here comes another one, Bucky thought, watching Sunglasses at Night cross the club. Bucky’d spotted the guy minutes after Steve had dragged him into his favorite club, front and center in the poshest VIP lounge, leaning back, his feet kicked up on the table, looking like a fashion model. 

It was Bucky’s job -- that’s what it had always been -- to keep the club boys off Steve while Steve was prowling. It didn’t matter what Steve wore, his muscles were on display even in the most casual outfit; tonight’s cuffed white dress shirt and a pair of jeans. He might as well have laid himself out naked on a silver platter; every Jersey Boy with a pair of balls, and not a few of the ladies, had been making eyes at Steve all night. And here the great idiot was, flirting with the bartender, and all his money was going straight into her tip jar. And he still wouldn’t just ask her out and see if he meant more to her than a flow of singles. Lucky for Steve (and for the club’s overhead) he had a ridiculous alcohol tolerance. 

Normally, Bucky didn’t mind; he had a pretty good scare routine going; depending on the person. He either played the jealous significant other -- Bucky had a great murder strut that led everyone but the most determined idiot or drunken fool -- or he hit on the other person like a deranged psycho who wanted to skin his lovers and wear their faces like a flesh mask. In either case, most everyone found themselves urgently required on the other side of the club, leaving Steve alone to pursue his hopeless case. 

Usually. But tonight, Bucky was in pain and he really didn’t want to be here. The music was making his headache worse and the throbbing ribs and the bruises on his ass, legs, and back weren’t happy with him sitting on an uncomfortable bar stool. He’d been pulling the jealous routine out, since that involved nothing more than his resting bitch face and a directed glare. Most of the would-be Steve courters had deflected off without even saying a word. 

But god, this one was pretty. He dropped into the small space between Steve’s and Bucky’s bar stool, deep into Bucky’s personal space without so much as a by-your-leave. He flicked a glance in Steve’s direction and Bucky decided he’d go the other way tonight and flirt with this guy. Might be fun to watch his pretty eyes widen and that luscious mouth drop open in shock. But before he could get a word out, the pretty boy leaned over to Peggy and said, “Hey, can I get a vodka shot for tall, dark, and brooding here, and a scotch on the rocks?” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. That was new. Bucky had no illusions about his own attractiveness; he was a good-looking man, but whenever Steve was in the room, he was fucking invisible. Well, okay, then. Bucky shoved over a little on the bar stool, putting one foot on the floor. That was a move that had gotten him a lot of play, back when he was stalking the bars for a quick fuck. If someone was willing to share a bar stool after ten seconds of flirting, Bucky could usually talk them into a quickie. 

“Here you go, Tony,” Peggy said, shoving the drinks over and shooting Bucky a look that he had no idea how to interpret.   

“Oooh,” Tony said, hopping up onto the bar stool with Bucky and slinging one leg over Bucky’s thigh to balance himself. “You got the death by dismemberment stare from _Peggy Carter_. So, what did you do? I bet it’s interesting.” He groped around behind him on the bar for his drink and then knocked the whole thing back in one long swallow, his throat working. “So, I’m Tony, what do they call you?” 

“Bucky,” he introduced himself, and that was a surprise. He hadn’t used that name to introduce himself in _years_. Bucky was a kiddie nickname that he’d gotten in grade school and all but abandoned with everyone except Steve and Sam. Even his ex called him Jamie, or Jim, sometimes. But he didn’t want to think about his son-of-a-bitch ex anymore, and he didn’t want to hear his name mangled with echoes of Brock Rumlow in the mouth of someone else. He snatched up the shot and downed it in a single gulp. Wow, that was top-shelf vodka and not the cheap shit he’d been drinking most of the night. It lit a blowtorch in the back of his throat and then soothed all the down to his belly. 

“So, uh, I have the lounge, if you want to sit somewhere a little less crowded,” Tony suggested. Bucky glanced back at the VIP sofa, noting that Tony’s friend hadn’t come back yet, either. “Rhodey’s getting shots, and I bet if I tipped Peg something extra, I could get your friend to follow us back that way, make a party of it.” 

“And what do you get out of that?” Bucky grinned, unable to resist the idea of Tony dragging away Steve’s crush like leading a kitten across the room with a laser pointer. 

Tony looked Bucky up and down, licked his lips. “I’m gonna get you drunk enough to do body-shots and then invite you to mess around in my limo.” 

“I don’t drink tequila,” Bucky said, easily, although he could probably be persuaded. “And don’t even suggest vodka and oranges, because that’s a terrible thing to do to vodka.” He leaned closer. “If you want me to lick you, just ask.”

Which was how Bucky found himself with a lapful of Tony, half-peeled out of his shirt, while Tony’s friend Rhodes and Steve got into some Army/Air Force bullshit drinking contest. And forgot about his aversion to tequila when Tony peeled out of his long-sleeved shirt to reveal a skimpy black tank top underneath and Bucky got a look at the man’s arms, which made his mouth go dry. Then nearly fell on the floor when Peggy got into it and let Steve tip a shot glass out from between her breasts, because Steve was bright pink and Peggy was laughing at him. 

Finally, sticky and overheated, Tony straddling him and singing along with the music (badly, and using the wrong words, which was oddly endearing) Bucky put his arms around Tony’s waist. “I feel like a normal person for the first time in years,” he said, not really expecting Tony to hear him, or care, but Tony drew back and gave him a searing look, and for the first time that evening, Tony’s mouth came down on his, as if he could kiss comfort and lick away pain. 

Tony had gotten up to negotiate his way across the club to the men’s room when Steve dropped into the seat next to Bucky. “You got something with that?” Steve asked, annoyingly still sober. 

“Why, what’s up?” 

Steve grinned, that wide, full-teeth smile that Bucky so rarely saw, genuine and happy. “Look, I know I promised you the couch until you could get back on your feet, an’ I won’t go back on that if you don’t have anywhere else to go but --” 

“She said yes?” Bucky could see where this was going, and for fuck’s sake, Steve had been mooning around Peggy long enough that it was a relief to see him getting somewhere. Bucky tightened his grip on his expression. “Yeah, you go. Take off. I’ll see you tomorrow after lunch. Text if you need me to stay away longer.” 

“You’re a pal,” Steve said, clapping his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. And then Bucky watched his best friend walk away with a girl tucked under his arm and wondered what the fuck had happened to his life. 

Bucky grabbed two of the leftover shots on the table for luck, did them one after the other, and by the time Tony was back from the bathroom, Bucky was sprawled, loose-limbed on the sofa, waiting for him. “S’at offer still open?” he slurred just a little, probably a bit too much to drink, but he needed the courage.

“You get ditched, Buck?” Tony said, looking down at him, then over at the sprawl of empties on the table, dead soldiers, every one. “Where the hell did butterbean go?” Tony turned around in a slow circle, but Rhodey was nowhere to be seen. 

 _Shit_. Bucky hadn’t moved fast enough -- Tony was either drunk enough, or sober enough to rethink messing around -- and now he was gonna have to find a Wal-Mart or something to hang out in for the night and dodge security cops, pretending not to be homeless. Tony took his phone out and texted, thumbs moving with skill over the tiny keyboard. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Tony grabbed his arm as Bucky moved toward the door. Last call was being hollered at the bar and while Bucky had some experience getting tossed out at closing, it was never exactly fun. “Just makin’ sure Rhodes has a ride home. I don’t wanna be _that guy_.” 

The implication was pretty strong there that Steve was being _that guy_ , and Bucky gritted his teeth and tried not to resent it, because he was sure that was what it looked like from the outside. Steve had been doing him a solid; had given him somewhere to stay where Brock wasn’t going to come looking for him. Bucky was so damn weak and if Brock came ‘round to plead his case, Bucky was going to end up caving. Everything always made so much sense when it came out of Brock’s mouth, and Bucky was _used_ to doing what Brock wanted. 

“Okay, he’s good,” Tony said. “He and Carol have this on again-off again relationship. If they’d ever get around to calling it that, they’d both be happier.” He slid an arm around Bucky’s waist. “So, did that mean you’re interested in that offer of some messing around in a limo?” 

“Yes,” Bucky said, and it wasn’t even a lie; he certainly was interested in some messing around, and he was absolutely interested in someplace to be. At least it was Friday night, because he had work damn early in the morning on Monday. Not that he didn’t have grades to work on over the weekend, because he did, and he needed to find someplace new and more permanent to live, and probably was going to have to round up the crew to get his stuff back (provided Brock hadn’t torched it already, and while Brock was a vindictive son of a bitch on the best of days, he was also lazy, and in it for the drama, so if he was going to torch Bucky’s stuff, he’d want Bucky around to see it.). So, he had work to do this weekend; which wasn’t going to go any smoother for not having slept Friday night. But he was also wound so tight that he felt like his head was going to spin off and a little R&R was just what the doctor ordered. 

So to speak. 

“Yeah, I am.” 

* * *

Well, this, this is not what Tony expected. Not that he’s complaining, mind. The guy was gorgeous and his mouth had been interesting, quick and delicate, as he’d licked salt off Tony’s shoulder earlier, and Tony had been pretty damn interested in seeing what else Bucky could do with that mouth. 

It was, pretty much, perfect. Bucky’s mouth was the most amazing thing Tony’d ever seen, a brutal, double-curve, with an equally hot smile as sneer. The bottom lip was full and lush, a little swollen, like Bucky spent a lot of time chewing on it, the upper was paler pink and just as pretty. He had a mouth made for sin and when his lips came down on Tony’s, Tony was willing to get right into the sin part of the evening. 

And for someone built as thick as Bucky was -- for God’s sake, the man had shoulders like he bench-pressed VW micro-busses before lunch or something -- he was pliant and willing under Tony’s hands and eager to lay back, let Tony straddle his thighs and yank at his clothes. 

Bucky’s shirt made a puddle in the footwell of the limo, stark against the plush interior carpeting. Happy had already pushed the privacy divider up, because Happy wasn’t an idiot. He’d also probably put on his headphones, because Tony sometimes _was_. 

Tony moved his hands down to Bucky’s belt and then stopped, stopped dead flat, because they weren’t shadows, _holy shit_. “What the hell happened to you?” Which was not a question you asked from a casual fuck under any circumstances, but Bucky’s ribs looked like someone had taken a bat to him. 

Bucky swallowed hard, once, and his eyes shifted, just a little, so that rather than meeting Tony’s eyes, he was looking right between his eyebrows. Tony knew a little of that trick himself. “I have a rough job,” he said. God, that was a _fucking_ lie, and if it was a lie, that had some implications that Tony wasn’t sure he was ready to think about. 

“Yeah?” Tony said, deliberately keeping it light. “What do you do?” Cop, maybe, if it wasn’t a lie. Firefighters sometimes got banged up. Maybe he was a professional hockey players or -- 

“I teach second grade,” Bucky said. 

Tony couldn’t help the burst of laughter that escaped him, high and a little panicked, because he was all the way back to Bucky was absolutely lying about it, but at the same time, it was fucking funny. “Yeah, crazy little bastards gang up on you, I imagine,” Tony said, and then there was no more interest in talking about work. If Bucky wanted to share what had bruised him up, he would, and it wasn’t any of Tony’s business anyway. 

But he went slower, more gently, in respect to bruises that striped Bucky’s back and hip and Jesus _fuck_ down his leg, too. What the utter hell?

Gently was good; Bucky was full of appreciation. Every time Tony uncovered an inch of skin, touched his lips there, or ran an exploratory finger over him, Bucky groaned, sweet and sensual. It was enough to give Tony a swollen head -- both the ego and the cock -- at Bucky’s interest. 

“Can I?” Bucky asked, fingers going up to brush against the buttons of Tony’s shirt. Weirdly tender and sweet; Tony couldn’t remember the last time a club-fuck had done anything aside from peel him out of his clothes like he was a banana and bend him in half for a fuck. 

“Yes, yes, please,” Tony said, leaning down to take control of Bucky’s mouth again, that rich, sweet taste and clever tongue that was giving him the shivers.  Bucky was quick, dexterous, unbuttoning and pushing Tony’s clothes out of the way. Tony sat back as Bucky finished with his shirt, and holy hell, did he _fold_ it to lay it down on the seat opposite them?   

Impressed, Tony arched back even further, letting Bucky strip his clothes away. He ended up on the limo’s plush bench seat, legs sprawled apart, and Bucky was on the floor, kneeling between his thighs, and god, that was hot. Bucky flicked his gaze up, eyed Tony from under the thick locks of his dark hair and then took Tony’s cock in his mouth.

“ _Holy_ \--” Tony managed before his voice spiraled up into a shameless moan. 

That was a pretty picture, Tony thought, managing to open his eyes through a herculean effort to watch that dark head bob up and down on his cock. Bucky sucked dick like he was born for it, like he was trained to do it, like he’d written a doctoral thesis on the art of oral gratification. 

Tony couldn’t get enough, he lifted his hips into it and Bucky’s hands went under his thighs, cupping his ass, letting him fuck the tight, wet tunnel of Bucky’s mouth and throat, and Jesus, he didn’t even flinch or gag, and Tony’d never gotten that part straight. That’s what God made spit and hands for. “Oh my, yeah, that’s… fuck…” Tony was usually better at sentences, too, but damn, he was getting his brains sucked right out through his dick, so perhaps a little incoherence was to be expected. 

His hands slipped into that silky hair, combing the tangles of Bucky’s waves through his fingers. Bucky’s mouth moved, slick and wet. Tony didn’t mean to pull his hair, but the way Bucky groaned, hot and heavy, against Tony’s skin prompted him to do it again, until he had great fistfuls of Bucky’s hair, pushing and directing and god damn if that wasn’t the hottest thing he’d ever seen. 

Nothing else existed in the world for that moment, but heat and wet against his skin, the slick pull of Bucky’s mouth and the vibrations coming from his throat as the man obviously got off on Tony’s pleasure as much as his own. The sound of Bucky’s ragged breathing, the feel of air pushing against Tony’s belly, the exquisite torment of Bucky’s lips and tongue. “God…” 

Bucky’s arms tightened under Tony’s hips, pulling him closer, nudging him with eager fingers, encouraging and Tony gave up to it, fucking Bucky’s face, plunged all the way in to the hilt. That mouth was so hot, so welcoming, tight, exactly what he needed, everything he wanted. Bucky let him, taking it, gloriously open and eager and the noises that he made, muffled groans that vibrated right up Tony’s spine, and it was so damn perfect, Tony didn’t know that he could ever stop. 

The heat build inside him until he was shaking with it, a molten pool at the base of his spine that zinged up through his nerves. “Oh, god,” he managed, “I… so good, god, god, now--” 

His lungs pushed air like a bellows, heartbeat eating up every other sound and his climax roared out of him. Tony came, screaming pleasure, ass rising off the limo’s bench as he came, and came. Bucky’s tongue never stopped moving, nursing him through his orgasm, the aftershocks, and then he was petting Tony’s legs and flanks, soothing him as Tony gasped for air, slick with sweat, and dizzy with the force of it. 

For a long moment, Tony was gripped with the strangest sensation of incompleteness, as if he wasn’t done, as if he had to go again, had to stake some sort of claim on this man, to brand Bucky as his, in front of the whole world. He shook that away, it was just hormone dump. Bar pick-ups were not a good start to anything, Tony knew that better than anyone. At the same time, he was reluctant to let go. 

“Hey,” Tony finally managed to say, “look, you wanna come back to my place? I’ll do you back proper for this, once I get my head on straight. That was… wow, like, really good. Whaddaya say?”

  
Bucky grinned, still seated on the floor at Tony’s feet, his cheek resting against Tony’s knee. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter inspired by cheesy country-western song, Let's Fall to Pieces (Together)
> 
> Pardon me, you left your tears on the jukebox,  
> And I'm afraid they got mixed up with mine.  
> I don't mean to pry,  
> It's just that I noticed you going out of your mind.  
> Looks like we're two of a kind.
> 
> Let's fall to pieces together.  
> Why should we both fall apart?  
> Let's fall to pieces together  
> Right here in each other's arms.
> 
> Alone is much better together,  
> And the worst is still yet to come.  
> So let's share the rest of the tears  
> That are left from two hearts that just came undone.  
> Why should we go crazy alone


End file.
